"Wakey wakey, lad!" Oswald's voice cut through the thick mist that smothered the coliseum floor. The fog wound its way around the old stone arches, hiding everything beyond a couple of steps; Gai might as well have been standing alone in a cloud. Even so, Oswald's bark had a hint of encouragement beneath the gruffness, jolting Gai from his reverie faster than a slap of icy water. Gai gave a hard blink and tried to shake off the last clinging bits of sleep as he stood at the outer doorway leading into the arena. The morning haze pressed in, muffling whatever distant crowd might have been watching. He glanced over at Oswald, who'd just stepped in from the far side of the chamber. "Sir, what exactly am I walking into?" Gai mumbled, trying—and failing—to hide how tired he felt.

  Oswald shot him that lopsided grin—the one that always spelled trouble for Gai. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough,” he said, chuckling, his shoulders jostling with the effort. He slapped Gai’s shoulder—enough to make him wobble. “I’m mostly looking forward to whatever tricks Captain Yami’s been slipping you after hours. You hid those lessons well, I’ll give you that—I didn’t have a clue.” Oswald’s laugh rang out, echoing off the stone. Before Gai could get a word in or steady himself, Oswald gave him a shove right between the shoulder blades.

  “Oi—!” Gai lurched forward, arms flailing as Oswald shoved him straight from the doorway into a wall of sunlight that sliced right through the mist. The second his boots hit the arena sand, the fog vanished like it had never been there. Blinking hard against the sudden glare, Gai left the dull gray haze behind and stepped into the bright, unexpected warmth.

  Suddenly everything hit at once: noise and colour everywhere. Laughter echoed in waves; people raised their voices just to be heard over vendors all vying for attention. The whole arena buzzed with energy, sound ricocheting from wall to wall.

  “Gai!” someone bellowed above the chaos. He glanced right and spotted Louis at the edge of the ring, arms flapping like he was trying to flag down a runaway cart. Mack and Sorren were on either side of him, both grinning wide and waving enough that they looked about ready to launch themselves into the stands.

  In spite of himself, Gai felt something settle in his chest at the sight of his friends—a small bit of reassurance, even as his nerves kept him rigid. He managed a quick wave, but his mouth stubbornly refused to stretch into a smile; he was wound too tight for that.

  All around him, recruits stood awkwardly near lookalike doorways carved into the coliseum walls—the kind that led back to stalwart rooms just like his own. Each person wore full armour, catching the sun here and there, with big streaks of coloured paint slashed across their breastplates to mark their training groups. Gai glanced down at his own gear, noting the bold green stripe painted across the battered metal.

  “Welcome, recruits!” A voice boomed out across the coliseum, slicing through the din and grabbing every ear in one go. Every head turned—though there wasn’t anyone visible to address. The voice echoed from every direction all at once.

  “And welcome to the citizens of Arieruro!” That announcement drew out a fresh round of cheers from the packed stands. The crowd filled every inch of seating; faces were bright with excitement as people leaned in for a better look. Some waved Bodubania banners, others tried not to spill their drinks or food while they shouted along.

  Gai craned his neck, scanning for whoever owned that thunderous voice. It sounded like someone used to being obeyed—someone important. He wasn’t alone in looking; plenty of other recruits were glancing around too, wearing everything from confusion to open awe.

  “Today is the opening of the Festival of Kings,” continued the unseen announcer, “when we honour not only our nation’s might but what comes next—the strength these young people will bring to our future!”

  Another wild cheer ripped through the crowd, swelling so strong it seemed to lift the air itself.

  Gai swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat. His heart hammered away, each beat just making him more aware that every eye was on him. The strength of these young ones, he thought, a bit sourly. Did they have any idea how much pressure that actually was? Any of them?

  Right then, the ground shifted beneath his boots—so slight at first he wondered if it was just his nerves, but it grew quickly. The entire floor seemed to quiver, then buck violently. Gai fought to stay upright as the sand rolled in waves.

  “What the—” he started, but everyone else’s shouts and gasps drowned him out.

  The arena floor convulsed, sending up huge mounds of earth with no warning at all. Stone pillars shot up all over the place, jutting at weird angles while big slabs tilted and smaller heaps tumbled apart.

  In less than a minute, the open space became a twisted maze—someone’s idea of a real battleground, though Gai had no clue whose.

  Dust spun through the air in thick swirls, catching bits of sunbeams here and there. The smell of raw earth took over everything—strong and earthy with the tang of sweat and metal riding on the breeze.

  He stared at what the arena had become, feeling his pulse picking up even more. Whatever they’d planned for him, it was starting now.

  “First up: recruit Gai of Cemirini versus our own Raimondis from the upper district! Begin!”

  The announcer’s voice bounced off every wall, pulling an avalanche of cheers from the crowd. The stands shook as people stomped their feet in rhythm; excitement practically hummed in the air. Gai found himself at the arena’s edge, trying to keep his breathing steady. He gripped his sword’s handle tighter and shifted his stance, feeling coarse sand shift beneath his feet.

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  The arena sprawled out in front of him, all uneven hills of packed dirt and jagged rocks that threw long, warped shadows over the sand. The morning sun beat down hard, turning the place into an oven—you could see the heat shimmering off the ground. Gai’s pulse pounded in his ears as he moved forward, and the crowd’s roar faded into a dull background buzz.

  He picked his way through the landscape, weaving between dirt mounds with careful steps, scanning every pocket of darkness for any sign of movement. His sandals made hardly any sound on the sand, lost in the noise outside, but here—inside this mess—Gai felt totally alone. He crouched lower, ready for anything, every muscle strung tight.

  Then—a sound: so faint it was almost nothing. Footsteps pattering somewhere out of sight, broken up by quick stops and starts. Gai tilted his head and squinted. Was someone hopping? Jumping? He listened harder, heartbeat picking up.

  He drew his short sword with a muted scrape and drove his tower shield into the ground before him. It was battered but solid—though Yami thought little of their need. Ducking behind it with narrowed eyes, he called out: “Where are you?” His voice gave away more nerves than he’d like; it echoed back at him anyway.

  Nothing but silence answered—a heavy blanket of it pressing down. Sunlight spilled in crooked lines through gaps ahead. Then a sharp whistle cut through the stillness, high and fast.

  Gai barely had a second to brace as blasts of air hammered his shield, jerking it so hard he almost lost it—then actually did as it was ripped out of his grasp. The shield hit the ground metres away, full of gaping holes. The next thing Gai knew, he was flat on his back in gritty sand, wind knocked out of him.

  “Damn it,” he hissed, scrambling up without wasting time mourning his shield. No point now—Raimondis clearly preferred surprises. Gai bolted toward a thicker patch of cover, darted down a narrow passageway between rocks, and dropped behind a squat boulder to catch his breath. He pressed himself against the cool stone and wrapped both hands tight around his sword hilt.

  He darted a look back over his shoulder, half-expecting some trick—just more rocks and shadows. “Perfect,” he grumbled, swiping the sweat off his forehead with a shaky hand. Sunlight bounced every which way, sending bright flashes into his eyes and making it impossible to get a clear view. He shut his eyes for just a second, trying to tune out the chaos and focus on what he could sense instead of what he could see.

  He pushed his awareness outward, searching for the tiniest flicker—anything that might give Raimondis away. There. Footsteps again, quick and light, then a brief stop—the kind that meant someone was getting ready to jump. The same rhythm: sprint, leap, land—over and over, but edging closer each time.

  No use waiting around to be proof Raimondis had good aim—Gai rolled hard to one side just as a blast blew apart his hiding spot. Chunks of rock flew everywhere; dust stung his eyes and made him cough as he scrambled for another sliver of cover.

  Peering through the mess, Gai caught sight of a figure above him—a flash of movement before Raimondis landed on another mound nearby, sunlight catching him for just an instant before he was gone again.

  “Bloody hell!” Gai hissed, crouching down further and tracking Raimondis as he bounced from spot to spot like it was child’s play.

  Raimondis dropped closer next time and fired off two quick shots—compressed air that hit so hard they sent sand flying in every direction. Gai had to jump out of the way fast or risk getting knocked flat again.

  “All right, enough already!” Gai yelled, standing up more fully and glaring toward Raimondis’s last landing point. “Quit hopping around like a rodent! If you want me, come down here and get me!” His voice rang out in challenge, sharp with irritation but refusing to back down.

  There was nothing for a moment; just silence that stretched long enough to make Gai’s grip on his sword tighten until his knuckles ached.

  Then Raimondis laughed—a low chuckle at first, then louder until it echoed all across the arena, prickling under Gai’s skin.

  “Bravo!,” Raimondis finally called back, derision dripping from every word. “You’re brave for someone who can’t even hold onto their shield.” From somewhere above him came another whistle-like sound—the precursor to yet another strike. The taunt had worked—its sting was unmistakable. Raimondis’s face twisted into a mask of fury, his sharp features contorting with unrestrained anger. With a furious yell, he hurled himself from his perch, firing off another volley that warped the air in their path. But Gai was already moving—quick, tight steps, dodging as blasts tore into the sand at his heels.

  Raimondis shot past, all wild speed and zero control. Gai spun on instinct, lowered his shoulder, and slammed into him in midair. They collided hard; Raimondis’s breath left him with a grunt as he crashed into the sand in a heap.

  Still coughing and spitting sand, Raimondis got to his knees, his glare dark with frustration and disbelief. His armor was streaked filthy now—dented pride and all. He forced himself upright, swiped at his clothes with stiff irritation, and tried to sound like he still had the upper hand.

  “All right then—let’s settle this properly, little rat,” he sneered, brushing grit from his tunic like it offended him personally. His eyes blazed as he yanked out his short sword—the blade shining mean and hungry in the sun.

  Gai didn’t flinch. He went to draw his own weapon on reflex but found nothing but empty air at his hip. For a second he stared at the vacant scabbard before dropping his hand away.

  Raimondis caught it instantly. His laugh this time was sharp-edged and pleased. “Drop your act and yield,” he declared flatly, drawing out each word just to twist the knife.

  Gai’s reply came quick and quiet: “No.”

  That lone word rang out firm between them—and for just a breath, Raimondis’s smirk wavered before snapping back into place.

  “Fine,” Raimondis spat, his voice tight and low. His knuckles whitened on his sword hilt, jaw clenching like he wanted to bite through stone. Without any more warning, he lunged—fast enough that Gai barely saw him go, blade slashing down in a clean arc straight for Gai's throat.

  Gai didn't flinch or fumble. He stepped in close and sharp, slipping inside the arc of the swing before Raimondis could adjust. One quick movement—Gai’s fist snapped up with practiced precision and cracked Raimondis under the jaw. There was a sickening snap; Raimondis’s head jerked back and his feet left the ground. He hit the sand with a messy thud, sprawling out in a heap that didn’t move.

  The crowd gasped all at once—somewhere between disbelief and awe. No one had expected an unarmed Gai to flatten a sword-wielding Raimondis so effortlessly.

  Gai didn’t bother with theatrics. He strode over to where Raimondis lay dazed, feet sinking into the churned sand. Before Raimondis even remembered which way was up, Gai kicked the sword from his limp fingers—it landed harmlessly several paces away with a dull thud.

  Without missing a beat, Gai dragged him upright and pressed the flat of his battered knife against Raimondis’s neck—a clear message, no need for any more words.

  “Yield,” Gai said, steady as ever—not loud, just final.

  Raimondis blinked like he was waking up from a bad dream. The chill of worn steel on his skin seemed to do what nothing else could; reality returned fast.

  “I yield!” he choked out, voice cracking with something that sounded suspiciously like panic. He was still wheezing for breath, face redder than any wound.

  Gai released him almost as soon as he heard it. He stepped back, giving Raimondis space to stew in embarrassment instead of pain.

  “The winner: Gai of Cemirini!” The announcer's voice rang out over the arena, surprise bleeding through every word. The crowd wasted no time; shouts and cheers erupted all around as people jumped up to celebrate the upset. No-one would have placed their bets on an unknown peasant’s son.

  Gai lingered, letting the uproar roll past him, barely moving except to track a strip of sunlight crawling higher up the stone. The world seemed entirely content to carry on, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

  As two guards approached, carrying his weapons, Gai cast a final glance at Raimondis—his expression inscrutable before he turned away in silence. They guided him through the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the arena, leaving behind the cacophony of cheers and glaring sunlight. The passageways were cool and hushed, with only the rhythmic thud of the guards’ boots breaking the silence. Gai’s steps were soundless by comparison, yet his heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears—a persistent and uneven beat.

  He anticipated either accolades for his unexpected victory or reprimands for humiliating an elite favourite. However, neither guard acknowledged him beyond their duty; they simply ascended a spiralling staircase that led to the east wing of the coliseum. Along the way, torches flickered within iron sconces on rough stone walls, casting shadows that danced like restless spirits. The air carried a lingering scent of sweat mingled with smoke.

  Eventually, they halted at a weathered door marked with an emerald streak—the same hue as the stripes on Gai’s own armour. One guard knocked firmly against its wooden surface, and as the door creaked open, the warm glow from within revealed Maric seated calmly at a table, waiting expectantly. Another guard placed a reassuring hand on Gai's shoulder, signalling that he should enter.